


The Tracer Twins

by Djinn_n_Tonic



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Anal Play, Ass Smothering, Blackmail, Exhibitionism, F/F, F/M, Grinding, Masturbation in Shower, Multi, Oral Sex, Public Sex, Self-cest, Semi-Public Sex, Vaginal Fingering, Voyeurism
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-08-05
Updated: 2016-08-09
Packaged: 2018-07-29 11:52:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 12,907
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7683466
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Djinn_n_Tonic/pseuds/Djinn_n_Tonic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Lena "Tracer" Oxton explores an alternate reality where the familiar faces of Overwatch lead very different lives from the reality she knows.</p>
<p>(This story takes place, aside from the first chapter, in an alternate universe version of Overwatch, where all the characters' looks are based on an alternate costume from the game, with an original backstory to match)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Thanks for Dropping In

**Author's Note:**

> The following story was created purely for entertainment purposes, and the author does not gain any profit from its distribution. While the events depicted are the original creations of the author, the characters are owned by Blizzard Entertainment, and all relevant partners. This story is in not connected to the canon of Overwatch. Please do not distribute this story elsewhere without express author permission and due credit. Thank you!

Lena "Tracer" Oxton had just returned from another successful mission with the recently reunited Overwatch. Tracer was ready to peel out of the orange jumpsuit that was sticking to her sweaty skin, and hop into the shower. As refreshing and necessary as the task would be, Tracer let out a sigh, not of exhaustion from the mission, but the exhaustion she would no doubt feel after getting ready. Something as simple as a shower was an arduous process for the woman with a large metal, plastic, and god-knows-what-else device strapped to her chest.

She was grateful for her powers, as it allowed her to help more people than she ever could, and she had a lot of fun doing it, but the cost of having them was a constant annoyance. If the device wasn't powering down at the most inopportune times, having only enough juice to keep her tangible but not allow her to blink or recall, it was just getting in the way of daily life. For example, while the device was water proof, it could be difficult to clean the skin that was hidden beneath it. She also had to be careful while removing the buckles and straps to get her clothes off. It would continue to work so long as it was no more than three inches from her person at all times. Anymore and she would have to contact Winston to come help her. As close as they were, Tracer did not like having Winston see her naked after he affixed the device back to her.

Much to her surprise and delight, it looked like she wouldn't have to worry about that anymore. Sitting on the dresser of her temporary hotel room was a box, neatly tied with ribbon and bow, and a card.

_Your presents are finished, Ms. Oxton. The first you shall find in this box. The other is back at your apartment._ _-Winston_

_P.S. I ate the peanut butter in the mini-fridge. I'm so sorry._

Tracer didn't care that she now owed $15 for the jar of peanut butter he ate. She was too excited about her presents. Opening the box in a flash, her expectations were met and the present she was hoping for was there: a new chronal accelerator.

This new device would be far less cumbersome than the chest-strapped one she was currently using. Winston had designed it to be fitted around the waist like a belt. Although she would still be bound to this device for the rest of her life, it wasn't nearly as in the way as the chest model. In what would be perceived as a flash to a third party, Tracer took out the belt and slung it around her waist.

"Aw, Winston, you made it too big!" she remarked in her British accent. When she took a look at herself in the full length mirror, she recanted her complaint. The belt was indeed too big to fit snugly around her. However, her wide hips and ample ass kept it from slipping off of her. It sat on her hips, slipping to her right, and accentuating her curves in that region. "Or maybe you knew exactly what you were doing, you damn dirty ape," she said to herself, giggling.

The power on the belt was left off until she started to take the chest model off. She wasn't sure what would happen if she had both operating at the same time, but she wasn't about to find out. In the blink of any eye, the chest plate was turned off, removed, and the belt switched on. Tracer held her eyes shut tight, gritting her teeth and waiting for her body to become incorporeal. Thankfully, it was a success, and so she remained in the proper timeline with her physical body.

"Yes!" she exclaimed, jumping in the air with a zip, and landing on her bed to continue jumping. Her laughter lasted several minutes before she fell back down onto the mattress with a happy sigh. Then she remembered the second gift Winston had mentioned. Tracer knew exactly what it was, as it was the reason she was in the hotel in the first place. With several flashes of blue streaks, all of Tracer's belongings were tucked away into her suitcase.

She considered taking that shower before she left, but knowing what awaited her at her flat, she didn't want to waste the opportunity. The concierge at the front desk was typing lazily at his computer when he heard a strange electrical sound, followed by a woman's laughter. When he looked up, money and a room key were sitting on his desk.

Tracer was thankful she didn't choose a hotel that was far from her place of residence, as it allowed her to blink across the roof tops to reach it, and not run out of power while doing so. Any further away and she might have had to use public transit to get home. She couldn't imagine going that slowly knowing what awaited her.

"Winston, I'm home!" she exclaimed into her apartment. No answer, and everything looked the same. She was a bit disappointed, until she saw the second letter Winston had left her.

_Your apartment is now outfitted with chronal accelerator technology, running off a small generator I've placed into your laundry room. As we discussed, this will allow you to move about your apartment freely, without needing either personal chronal accelerators._

_I hope you enjoy!_

_-Winston_

"Oh Winston, you're the best!" she said to the letter, and gave it a big kiss  since the scientist wasn't there himself to receive it. Tracer began to zip all around the flat, looking for clues to where these chronal attachments were so she knew never to disturb them. Winston had done a good job of hiding them, though, since she could find nothing. She did recall how he said he didn't want them to be in the way or obvious, so he spent an extra month on making them work to that regard. She tried to talk him out of it, but once he got an idea for some tech in his head, it wouldn't come out until he made it.

All the running around had caused her to add another coat of sweat to her already sticky body. Her face whipped away from her pit when she gave it a sniff. "Offensive!" she said about herself with a smile. The smile carried over to her now far more fun task of getting undressed.

Tracer started with her armguards. They fell with a clunk onto the ground. She was usually more careful with them, but today she was more focused on herself rather than her things. Next came her signature bomber jacket. Delighted in how easily it came off, she slipped it back on just so she could slip it off again. Taking a moment, she admired how her breasts looked, all snug inside of her full body track suit. The chest device obscured most of her chest, so she had almost forgotten how perky and full they were. A giggled echoed through her spacious flat while she cupped and measured their size and shape. Just a little over handful, though her lovers always had bigger hands than hers. A C-cup suited her just fine, though she often went without. It was theorized by some bloggers that Tracer showed off her ass so much because her chest was covered up by the jacket and the device, that she was compensating. She of course publicly denounced such crass theories, but they were right.

Standing in front of her tall mirror, she continued to undress after kicking off her running shoes. Tracer wanted to see her body, in all its finery, unobstructed by the device. _Well other than this cute belt_ , she thought, cocking her hips side to side to make it move. Now instead of the sound of giggles echoing through her flat, the sound of the zipper being slowly tugged down replaced it. Breath caught in her throat when she got to see her cleavage for the first time in years. The suit pushed her breasts together lovingly, and the more she pulled the zipper down, the more the suit relented and let them part.

The zipper only went down a short distance, ending  a few inches above her belly button, so the rest of the suit would be peeled off. Arms pulled free, she started to push down on the orange clothing. Her eyes didn't leave the sight of her breasts while they gave little bounces as she shimmied free of the suit. Tracer took a moment to admire her naked torso, and even shed a tear at how happy she was. Remembering she had a shower to get to, she returned to her task.

The suit wasn't hard to get past the belt, given the space between her and it. She had to hand it to Winston. He had made it slightly too big, but it still was fitted enough so it could still affect her form. _Maybe he really did make it a bit too big on purpose_ , biting her lip at the thought. With her back to the mirror, she looked over her shoulder to watch as her world famous ass emerged from the suit. Playboy had offered her 5 million pounds for pictures of her plump pear, and as tempting as it was, she didn't want to harm the image of Overwatch.

Down her toned legs the suit was pulled, and those same legs pulled her feet out of the orange puddle of clothing once it was far enough down. Tracer traced her hands over her body, from ankle to clavicle, moaning as she appreciated her shape. "I am gonna have to find someone's face to sit on to celebrate this new belt!" she planned. "No! I'm gonna have someone play with my tits now that they're unleashed!" she changed. "First things first, I need to wash up," she committed, and sauntered off to the bathroom.

Tracer used to hate taking showers. Having to work around her chest plate was a constant reminder how in the way it always was. She intended to fully enjoy this one, however. Once she was soaked, and her hair dripping wet, began to rub the orange body wash gel against her body. Her moans did not stop for the rest of the shower. Breasts were, of course, first on the agenda. Tenderly massaged and lovingly cupped. Nipples were pinched, confirming this shower wasn't just about getting clean, but being dirty.

Due to her unique abilities, Tracer was able to force her perception of time to slow. Each droplet of water that hit her fresh skin felt like the first bit of rain falling on her from the sky. Every trail of water that slid down her body, she was able to map out. The slopes of her breasts, the steep drop of her flat tummy, and the winding curves of her body, all acknowledged by the bits of water she focused on. Tracer felt each bubble from the soap popping against her cheeks after she lathered them. A tingle running up her spine could be felt for what seemed like days if she wanted it to. She held onto the feeling of her stomach filling with butterflies while she massaged between her quivering legs. Carefully moving her finger tip from between her lips and away from the shower spray, she brought it to her other lips and tasted her joy. The flavor would only last for mere moments for anyone else, but for Tracer she could savor it for as long as she wanted.

Her own spray, brought on with a heralding cry of bliss, was quickly washed away by the water, mixing with the liquid and disappearing down the train at her feet. Though she wasn't naturally multi-orgasmic, she could manipulate her own passage of time so her normally spaced-apart climaxes would overlap, and build on one another. Tracer sat quivering, her right leg twitching, lower lip being bit the point of bleeding, for several minutes. To her, however, it lasted far longer. Again, Tracer was glad to have her powers.

 

_________________________

 

Tracer enjoyed her flat's new accommodations immensely for the next few weeks, being sure to show it off to all of her teammates in Overwatch, and allowing a few of her favorites to spend the night. Almost every day Tracer was called out to a mission. Since Overwatch had reformed, she found herself busier than usual. Winston was kind enough to give her the day off, so she could enjoy a little Tracer-time. Most would be given a week, but Tracer just needed the day.

However, with the infinite time of a day for Tracer, she ran out of things to do. The flat had been cleaned twice, she played with herself countless times, read all her books, cleaned her flat twice more, re-arranged the furniture, and then enjoyed her own touch countless more times. She would have left the flat, but there was an intense thunderstorm outside.

Normally, Tracer didn't mind the rain. She could dodge through the droplets if she wanted to, but this was a thunder storm. Winston warned her against surges of electricity to her accelerator, which could cause unforeseen consequences. So inside she remained. With yet more hours left in the day, Tracer figured what was one more masturbatory session on the mountain she had already created?

She felt this would be the last time today, if not for awhile. It had become too clinical and dull with so much overdoing it. Not that she disliked the experience. This one felt especially unique, however, as she came moments after a surge struck her flat and affected the chronal accelerator lining the walls. Startled, mid climax, she accidentally activated her own chronal belt. Up until that point, she hadn't used her belt within the flat. She kept it on her person, because she found it so cute, but the flat itself allowed her to blink and recall just fine. She wasn't sure what would happen if she used her belt within the confines of another chronal accelerator, and add on the recent surge of electricity to the far larger one that surrounded her, and something big was bound to happen. She couldn't imagine it would have been this big, though.

A flash of blue light filled the room, and the sound of howling winds nearly deafened the young Brit. She clung tightly to the headboard as she felt her body get pulled toward the end of the bed. Thankfully she was still wearing her goggles, so her eyes were able to adjust to the scene playing out. A swirling mass of blue, crackling, energy was forming in her room. She heard voices, though she couldn't make out what they were saying. If they were saying anything at all.

_Is that...moaning?_ she wondered. She would get her answer when the energy surge suddenly stopped, and a young woman fell onto her bed with her. A woman that looked just like her, and yet not at all.

Tracer barely had the wits about her to cover up her exposed body to the sudden intruder. The way in which she arrived and the face she wore were all too shocking for her to register any kind of shame. She appeared to have similar hair to her own - combed over to the right, fraying into large spikes. However, where her own hair was chestnut brown, this one's hair was stark white, and the sides of her head were shaved down to a subtle buzz.

The woman stared at the brunette with shock and wonder. Her heart was already racing from the activity she was just ripped from, but this increased it tenfold. This woman wore goggles too, lifted up from her eyes to examine her half naked body. This stranger's were wide and translucent orange, whereas her own were black, circular, and opaque on the exterior, allowing her to peer through the spike rimmed goggles on the other side.

She parted her glossy lips in a scream, and the other woman did so as well with her black lipstick tiers. Both scrambled out of the bed and kneeled on the floor behind its sides. Identical eyes met while peering over the edge, and quickly hid themselves again. After another moment, they eased up in mirrored movements and stood to examine one another.

"What the..." Tracer began.

"...bloody hell?" The other apparent Tracer finished, confirming that she, too, was British. She ran her eyes up and down the attractive, almost identical, woman who stood on the opposite end of the bed of her. Their bodies looked very much alike, though the skin tone are her doppelganger was more tanned than her pale shade. She could also detect some muscle definition on her stomach and thighs. Her own were fit, but not nearly as much as hers.

In the second after she finished examining the woman, Tracer realized her nudity and fell back behind the bed, scrambling to put on at least her panties and her bomber jacket before crawling back up. When she returned, the punkish twin didn't appear to care at all about her own nudity. She wore black and white striped stalkings, and the tears in them showed that there was a violet set on below those. Her torso was completely bare, allowing Tracer to take note of the several tattoos that graced her stomach and between her tits, equally sized to her own, capped with barbell piercings. Her hands were fitted with fingerless black gloves.

"Where the hell am I?" she asked, with awe, to anyone who could answer, dragging her eyes across the room that had been recently trashed by an unknown force.

"Wher- How about you tell me who you are first?" Tracer demanded, zipping up her jacket and slamming her fists onto her cocked hips.

"Me? I'm Lena Oxton, love. Now about that GPS report..." she answered, and immediately drew her attention back to her question. Given her answer, though, Tracer had more pressing matters to attend to.

"Lena Oxton?" The name sounded foreign when being used to address someone else. "That's my name!" She said with forced ownership, as if this woman had just snatched it from her.

"People can have the same names, doll," she reasoned, looking back at her with cocky eyebrows. "And the same body, apparently. Lucky you," she noted, ending her statement with lips kissing the air.

"How are you so calm about this?" Tracer demanded to know, throwing up her arms in confusion. "You just fell into my bed through some kind of...worm hole, and you're not freaking out at all?"

"Oh this is freaky, all right," she admitted. "I'm just a little relaxed given what I just did." She could see her twin was confused on what she meant, and to answer her question she flicked her tongue between her pointer and middle fingers.

"Oh, lewd!" she snapped.

"You're one to talk. I know what you were up to before I came...here."

"What are you talking about?"

The white-haired Lena gave her a knowing look and sighed, realizing she wouldn't admit to what she had done. So she began to list off the clues. "Your bed spread is all askew, your skin was flushed, you were butt naked, and those panties you just put on?" Lena pointed out, causing Tracer to snap her attention from the bed to her panties. "That dark spot on the front aint from sweat, I'm guessing."

"I- ah..well...Well what about you?" Tracer threw back at her, figuring she had the ammunition to trap her. "You're naked, too. What were _you_ up to before you got here?"

"Fucking two sexy birds," she said nonchalantly. "I told you," she repeated, doing the gesture with her fingers and tongue again.

Tracer looked away in quick disgust. "Ugh, right, right." Introductions out of the way, she figured it was best to focus on the strangeness at hand. "So where did you come from?"

"Nuh uh, you tell me where I arrived, first, love."

"Britain," she answered honestly.

"Well that's where I came from," Lena gave back.

Tracer began to pace about her room, stroking her chin and trying to figure out what had happened. Lena sat on the end of the bed, watching the curvy alternate version of herself walk about. Lena was proud of her own butt, _but this bird has a top shelf derrière_ , she thought to herself, licking her dark lips. _Second best I've ever seen_ , she ranked, remembering the one she had seen an hour prior to her arrival.

"Okay, so, before this happened, I was..." she stopped herself from openly admitting to what she had done, looking to the smirking Lena and then moving on. "...entertaining myself. Then a lightning bolt hit and I could hear the chronal accelerator generator roaring right fiercely."

"The what accelerator?" Lena queried.

"Y'know, the chronal -" she stopped, finally taking in a detail she couldn't believe she missed. This twin, doppelganger, alternate reality, whatever, version of her didn't have a chronal accelerator. No chest piece, no belt. Nothing on her that glowed blue and hummed with a familiar buzz. "Wait, you don't have a chronal accelerator!" she shouted.

"I guess not," she shrugged off.

"Oh my god!" she beamed, then tried to calm herself down so she could explain. "Okay, so the chronal accelerator is a device that helps to maintain and control the passage of time within a fixed area using focused-" she could see she was losing the punk. "It controls time."

"Wicked!" Lena said, understanding that very clearly.

Tracer felt oddly proud that she had impressed the seemingly unflappable woman. "Very!" After clearing her throat, she composed herself and started her process again. "So, the chronal generator started to short out, and then just as I ca-" she paused again when seeing Lena's face gain a lewd smile. "...finished entertaining myself, I felt my chronal belt activate."

"That's when that big swirling vortex opened up?" Lena added to her open recounting of events.

"And you popped out seconds later," Tracer said, getting them both up to speed.

"So, if you got a time machine, and I look like you, does that mean I'm...like your past self?" Lena asked "Oh bugger, is that what I'm gonna look like when I'm older?" she sounded horrified. "I mean, I get a wicked ass, but I look so...blah."

"Hey!"

"Wait, no," Lena began to question her own theory. "You aint got any tattoos. At least I didn't see any. Hey, take off your jacket real quick, love, and give us a peek."

"No!"

"It's for science!"

"You're not past-me and I'm not future-you!" Tracer cleared up. "I would have remembered going through a punk phase."

"It's not a phase!"

Both women rolled their eyes. "Besides," Tracer added, "I think we're the same age."

"I dunno, you act kinda old and lame," Lena countered.

"I'm 26!"

"Hey me too!" Lena said happily, then realized she was incorrect again in her theory. "Ah, right then. So, what's going on, then?"

"I think...I think I might have accidentally opened up a worm hole and pulled through an alternative version of myself," Tracer thought aloud.

"Hey, if anyone is the alternate version, it's you, love," Lena defended her right to being the original with. "I'm the original Lena Oxton!"

"If anyone is the alternative version, it's the one who looks like an alt bird," Tracer threw back at her with. Lena just gave a huff and figured it wasn't worth fighting over.

Having finished her theory, Tracer sat down on the bed with Lena, looking exhausted by the process and her previous activity. "I can't believe this." Lena couldn't help but smirk while staring down at her twin's legs, and beamed when she peered back at the crack of her ass that peeked out of her panties. Tracer noticed the admiration and showed she did not appreciate it. "Hey!" she snapped.

"What?" Lena said, looking hurt. "We're the same person, right? It's just like looking into a mirror, is all. A more sporty mirror, anyway," she added, continuing to look her up and down. "Come on, love, give us a gander."

"Why?" Tracer asked with a smirk, ready to throw Lena's logic back at her. "We're exactly the same, you know what I look like."

"I aint askin' just to peek," she admitted before leaning closer to kiss her softly on the lips.

Tracer wasn't sure what to think about such a forward advancement from such a woman so identical to herself. The five seconds she let her linger certainly did not speak toward Tracer's total revulsion of the kiss. Still, the oddity of the situation pressed her arousal down and Tracer had to push the woman back.

"What do you think you're doing?" Tracer said instinctively.

"Seein' if you're as good as kisser as I am," Lena answered. "And so far, I'm not impressed, love," she purposefully teased, hoping her emotions would get the better of her.

"I'll show you who's the better kisser!" Tracer challenged, falling right into Lena's trap. Pale lips met dark ones, sealing together. Lena gave a squeak, surprised Tracer submitted so quickly to the challenge. _Bloody hell, she really is a good kisser_ , she thought. _Better step up my game. I'm not losing to some preppy athlete version of me._

The seal was broken on their lips so Lena could snake in her thrice-studded tongue. Each ball clicked against her teeth, one after the other in a row, before gliding against the wriggling muscle in the other mouth. Tracer's eyes snapped open at the sudden introduction of not one, not two, not four, but three small metal balls. Her lids fluttered closed once she realized how good they felt stroking against the roof of her mouth. She ran her thumbs against the woman's buzzed sides, delighting in the subtle feel of the tiny hairs running against her digits. Her other fingers wrapped behind her head to pull her in closer, cocking her own head to the side to get a new angle against these new yet familiar lips.

Lena ran her hand along her side, down her hip, flicking her fingertips against the band of her yellow panties. Setting up for a greater prize, she lifted Tracer's thigh and draped the leg over her naked lap. To prevent her from wanting to pull away, she gave the muscle a firm and loving massage. Now she began to lean back, slowly, careful not to spook the girl into stopping. Lena kept her other arm outstretched, so when Tracer laid down beside her, she had quick and easy access to her pretty pear.

Not to be completely submissive, Tracer made the next decision, which was to drape herself over the ivory-haired woman completely, straddling her hips. Now she stroked her ears, clicking her fingernails against the many earrings the girl had running up the ridges. Tracer just had the two on an ear, but after seeing how more looked on her, she considered getting some more herself. The sounds of moaning, purring, whimpering, and wet lips smacking against one another filled the room.

The punk could no longer hold back, and just had to get two handfuls of the plump rear she hadn't stopped thinking about. She met with no resistance as she grabbed her firm cheeks, dragging her nails against the flesh when she closed her hands more and more. With all the moans Tracer was casting into her mouth, she felt confident in moving this makeout session even further, and began to peel down the tanned woman's panties. Sadly, this prompted her to break the kiss and sit up, looking down at her.

"Wait, what are we doing?" she said to herself, as if she had just fallen out of a spell. "I don't even know you."

"Nonsense, love," she said tenderly, stroking her hand against her taut belly. "We're the same person," she reasoned. She knew it was a flimsy argument, because she didn't believe it herself. They looked the same, but she could tell they were quite different in a lot of ways. "As far as I'm concerned, this is just masturbation." She was hoping that argument would sway her after seeing her thin brows furrow at her last reasoning.

Tracer knew both arguments were weak, and she didn't agree with either one, but she was debating her own rationale while Lena tried to sway her. _This is so weird. Too weird. Hell, it could be a dream_ , she thought. She looked down at the pale woman stretched out between her legs. Her breasts rising and falling with each quickened breath. That same breath passing through pouty, swollen, dark lips. And the heat radiating off of her was not lost on Tracer. _Fuck it. Dream or not, I'm going for it._ That thought gave her a wicked smirk, and in one fluid motion she unzipped her jacket and ripped it off.

Lena watched, completely still, with wide eyes, as Tracer crawled over her body. She got to admire her freckle-dusted breasts swaying past her, and the athletic abs casting over her face. When she rolled over to look back, she was greeted by the sexiest sight she'd ever seen. Tracer, on all fours, head pressed into the pillows and looking back at her past fallen bangs. Divine ass hoisted up into the air.

"Go on," she said heavily. "Finish what you started, love." Hips wiggled back and forth slowly, calling Lena to her plump rear.

_I can't believe I'm trembling_ , Lena thought. _Is it because of how weird this all is, or because she's so damn hot? God, how big of an ego boost is this?_ The panties were pulled the rest of the way down, clinging to her sticky wet lips only briefly. She had to sit back and admire the few. Firm muscles clenched, and cheeks framing her puffy lips perfectly. Her mouth would have gone dry from being open for so long if she wasn't salivating so much. To avoid Tracer changing her mind before she started, she delayed no further and pressed her face between those pert cheeks.

Tracer bit into her pillow while Lena dragged her tongue from her clit all the way to her asshole. All of her past lovers had shown a deep appreciation for her backside, which worked out great for her because she loved it when they did. She especially loved how Lena was showing her admiration. Tracer thought that they were perhaps more alike than she thought, because the alternate version of her knew just what she wanted and gave it to her twice over.

She left firm, slow, kisses on each cheek, several times. Lips parted wide and slowly dragged closer together, until they pulled away at contact. Neither hole was ever left abandoned once one was entered. If her lips were on her pussy, her fingers played with her asshole. If her tongue pistoned between her cheeks, her thumb tickled her clit. Lena had to giggle at the fact that she knew exactly when, down to the second, Tracer was going to cum. She knew because she could recognize all the signs in Tracer that she was about to cum, that she knew she made herself. So she was right there when the juices flowed more heavily from her pink folds and into her pink mouth.

The orange-favoring hero turned over onto her back, and stared up at the happy punk, licking her fingers clean. With a wicked smile and a flexible leg, she wrapped it behind her back and yanked her back down to her, laying her across her body. After Lena realized what happened, she began to grind her torso up and down against the other woman's. Shivers ran through both women as their nipples flicked against each other, and their breasts pressed into one another. Their lips wouldn't part from one another until they were finished.

First straddling Tracer's left leg, Lena pulled them both over to lay on their sides, and then began to grind against her thigh. Tracer leant a helping hand, cupping the punk's dripping heat and massaging two fingers against her insides. Lena reached over and cupped her ass again, then added some spanks, which only increased when she heard the cute yelp Tracer made whenever she struck her backside.

Sweaty, lithe, bodies slid against one another, leaving virtually no space between them. As Lena got closer, she held onto Tracer more and more, refusing to let her get so much as an inch away. Fingers found their way into every orifice, on each girl, at one point or another. Nether lips grinded against thighs, and tits slid up and down against one another. A chorus of sultry moans and whispered expletives spurred on their love making, until finally both women made the other sticky with their own fluids.

"So," Tracer huffed, "I have to know, what's it like in your world?"

"Pretty," Lena paused to catch her breath, "Pretty much the same here, I imagine."

"Maybe," she started, then turned over on her side to face her while she spoke, giving her her rapt attention. "But I'm curious. We're obviously different enough, in a lot of ways, so I want to know how your world is different too."

Lena gave a shrug and then turned over onto her side as well, facing the attentive cutie. "What's to say? Omnics control the world and rule it with an iron fist." She could tell by Tracer's face that this was not the case in her world. "Okay, so maybe there is a lot to tell," she admitted.

"To say the least!" Tracer firmly stated. "Now you _have_ to tell me everything."

Lena took a deep breath and tried to figure out where she should begin. "Well, I guess I should begin with where I live, then. I live in Section 18-A, with my girlfriend Aleksandra, though she likes to be called Zarya..."


	2. Round 2: The Punk, the Bear, and the Spider

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lena Oxton (Tracer) enjoys the company of her girlfriend, Zarya, at a Lucio concert. Afterwards, she runs into a very dangerous predator.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The following story was created purely for entertainment purposes, and the author does not gain any profit from its distribution. While the events depicted are the original creations of the author, the characters are owned by Blizzard Entertainment, and all relevant partners. This story is in not connected to the canon of Overwatch. Please do not distribute this story elsewhere without express author permission and due credit. Thank you!

The beats slammed against every wall in the spacious, two floor, club. The throbbing music spilled forth from the speakers that ran from floor to ceiling. Between them was a screen the projected the image of a white frog, wearing headphones, on a green background. Behind the turntable was the world renowned DJ/Activist/Rebel leader, Lucio. Theoretically, the DJ could have been anyone, as Lucio was dressed in his full costume tonight, as he was every night. A silver full body jump suit, green neon glow lines running up his torso, with a green frog foot print on his chest, and down his arms. Thick armor plating covers his legs. The skates he wore allowed him to dash between records, various laptops, and mixing stations. A simple smile below two large, pure green, eyes affixed into a frog like helmet. The headphones on the helmet matched those on his color-changing logo behind him.

The youth of England danced and cheered to the techno music that sent vibrations through their body. Dancing was constant, adding more pounding noise to the club. In the throngs of people were two women. One had hair of stark white, and black goggles pressed into the spiky mop so her big brown eyes could watch her dance partner. Her partner had dual colored hair. From the roots it started off purple, and faded into cyan as it neared the tips. Like the other punk, her hair was cut relatively short, though she did not shave off the hair on the sides of her head like her dance partner did.

The purple/blue haired punk's outfit looked heavy, and covered in studs and spikes. Three studded bands around each forearm. Blue cloth ran from her elbows and ended in fingerless gloves, the color darkening as it went down. Her clothing was closer to body armor than something light as her partner wore, but she did not feel safe going out without it. She felt she needed to keep her partner safe and secure, especially when they went out in public together, and even more so to an illegal club.

Lena Oxton, the white haired woman, could sense the lingering tension in her dance partner, Aleksandra "Zarya" Zaryanova. She was nervous, and scared. Being out in public was a risk, a great one, given their relationship. Back home, Zarya was far more open and energetic with Lena, but out in public her eyes were constantly shifting. That was precisely why Lena insisted they go out that night. She wanted to show off her girlfriend to the world, and to show her that they could be safe, as long as they were together. Lena also desperately wanted to see the famous Lucio in concert, and knew Zarya did, too, so she had to convince her to fulfill her dream.

The muscled woman, Zarya, did her best to relax, to enjoy her time out with Lena. She was at a secret Lucio concert, and she was with the love of her life. She and Lena led a polyamorous relationship, and had no qualms with each other sleeping around with other people, especially if they could all participate together. For Zarya, though, there was no one but Lena that she would give her heart too.

Still failing to relax the towering woman, Lena tried to get her into a mood she couldn't resist succumbing to. The beats around them were getting heavier, and more sensual. Lena knew this was the right time to pounce. Her body undulated and grinded back against Zarya. Hands reached up to rake her fingers through her short crop of purple and blue hair. Lena took her lover's wrists and guided her strong hands over her lithe and swaying body. She felt so safe in those large trunks for arms, and she felt so horny under the strong touch of her hands on her breast and against her twisting belly.

Zarya was starting to feel more at ease. Mostly, it was Lena taking her mind off her worries by occupying her attention with her body. She regretted wearing the bulky armor. The goth wanted to feel the punk's body writhing against her, to feel every curve grinding into her every muscle. Biting down her lower lip, on the side without a piercing through it, Zarya forgot about her troubles and squeezed her hands against Lena's perky tits.

Giggling with delight, Lena was happy to see her plan had worked, and so quickly. Zarya's hands now moving of their own volition, Lena was free to guide her hands behind Zarya, and squeeze at her firm and tight ass. Her own ass grinded back against Zarya. She wished she could do so against just her pants, but Zarya still had armor on that was blocking her access. Lena was not one to easily give up, though, and she'd have her out of that ridiculous security measure before the night's end.

Heavy lids, painted in a mix of purple and blue to match her hair, lifted up slowly. Zarya's eyes peered around the crowd, at all the happy people. They weren't worried, they weren't frightened, so why should she be? Then she looked up to the second floor balcony and spotted someone she thought was spying on them. She looked out of place, and yet no one else seemed to mind her presence. Zarya panicked, and pulled her hands off of Lena, not wanting to give this mystery woman more evidence of their illegal activity.

Lena heard Zarya speak above her. Her thick Russian accent mixed with the loud club music made it hard to make out, but her tone suggested worry. She sighed and turned, and directed her attention back down to herself. "Don't worry, love," she said to her, closing the distance between the two by standing on her toes. She wanted to make sure she heard every reassuring word. "We're safe here. We're among friends. Relax, and enjoy yourself." She could see her words had done some good, but there was still more worry than arousal on the Russian's face. Turning back around, and with a wicked smile, Lena engaged her next attempt at distracting Zarya. Lifting Zarya's hand up to her mouth, she gripped the goth's index and middle fingers and pressed them against her tongue. Black lips closed around the digits, trapping them inside with her luscious, studded, tongue. She treated the fingers like a lover's cock. Sucking and nipping, curling her tongue around the digits and pulling them out slowly, only to push them back in before they fully left her mouth. Satisfied with the prep work, Lena pulled them out with a pop and moved them down toward her crotch, where her zipper was being tugged down - exposing her cute black panties.

"Lena, what are you doing?" she asked, her voice thick with her accent. Her eyes darted around the club, looking for signs that anyone other than the woman above was watching. She could have pulled her arm away easily, she was certainly strong enough. But her willpower was sucked out through her fingertips by her adventurous lover.

She definitely couldn't hear what she was saying this time. Her heart was beating too hard and fast for her to hear anything than the blood being surged through her warming body. Since she hadn't pulled away, she figured she was being given the go-ahead to continue. The purple finger nails disappeared inside her thin panties, and soon the rest of her two fingers with them. Lena had to guide the digits against her from the outside of her panties, as there simply wasn't enough room for both their hands. Not once did she stop dancing to the beat. Hips rocked back and forth, and butt thrust back. Her back arched and her breasts strained against her t-shirt when she managed to get Zarya's middle finger into her dripping heat.

The Russian had dreamed of this exact scenario. At a Lucio concert, fingering Lena, and having a hell of a time. _How can I stop now?_ she thought to herself. Convinced now that the spy was just a pervy onlooker, Zarya decided to give her a show. _Why not? She chose well in spying on Lena and I, she deserves a reward_ , she rationalized about putting on an exhibition for the voyeur. _And I deserve a reward, too, I think. I don't know for what, but I'm sure I'll do something in the future to deserve this much fun_. Thick digit pressed up into Lena, parting her lips and sliding in comfortably with the bending of her knuckles. Licking her lips, she was just daring the woman to come down and join them. To whet both their appetites, Zarya dragged her free hand up Lena's belly, bunching up her shirt and exposing her flat, toned, tummy.

Lena's pierced nipples grew even stiffer when Zarya's hand started pushing up the shirt higher and higher, eventually over one breast. Her nipple was never shown, though. Zarya had a thumb under her shirt the whole time, so by the time the cloth was moved up to expose the perky shape of her tit, her nipple was already covered. Eyelids fluttered closed, and the club scene disappeared from her sight. Tongue flicked slowly at the air, looking for something to pull in to suit her oral fixation. Lips parted so her mouth could suck in more oxygen for her heavy and quickening breaths. Lena felt like she was floating. _No wait, I am floating!_ Her eyes snapped downward to examine the floor. Sure enough, her feet were inches off the ground. She could now see Zarya's muscles flexing as she lifted her lithe girlfriend up off the ground with one hand - the same hand that had a finger buried and twitching in Lena's box. Not for a second did she worry she might fall. She knew Zarya would keep her aloft. One arm was enough to lift her, but two could keep her off the ground forever.

Zarya had her right hand palming Lena's left breast. Her arm slung across her torso and holding her against her own chest. Her left hand supported the rest of Lena's weight, while a finger stayed curious inside of her most intimate of places. The woman above was still watching, leaning forward against the rail to get a closer look. _Just come down here if you want to see_ , Zarya begged the spy wordlessly. She could feel more eyes upon her now. Some of the dancers had noticed the lewd display and were deeply enjoying it, though they never stopped dancing. She saw more than a few cocks whip out and be plunged into their respective partner's orifices. Zarya had started something, something great. She had always wanted to create a rebel movement, to push back against the oppressors, but never found the courage or opportunity. Lena had given her both. Though it wasn't some rebellion that would topple anything, an open display of affection was something that had not been seen for years. What they were doing wasn't on the street, but it would do. Zarya wasn't complaining, and judging by Lena's loudening moans and squeals, neither was she. She was inspired. It took some doing, but she managed to fit a second finger into the tight fit Lena had.

Hips bucked against Zarya's palm. Hands searched for some erogenous zone to grab onto, but she couldn't reach for any of Zarya's. It was driving her mad and she loved it. She loved having no control, being used so publically and erotically. Her breaths came short and quick. Eyes watched her body twist and buck against Zarya. Hands ran up and down her arms to feel the fabulous muscles that held her safely above the ground. She lay a finger across her teeth and bit down softly. When she started to scream, her finger gripped to her bottom row of teeth but eventually fell away when she moved her hands to reach up and run through her hair. She looked mesmerized and bewildered by the pleasure rushing through her at that moment. Juices managed to find a way out of her tight shorts and trickle down her thighs.

When Zarya looked back up to the balcony, the woman was gone, much to her dismay. She hoped she at least saw the show all the way to the end. Zarya let Lena down gently, and waited until she felt she could stand on her own two feet before letting her go. Hand pulled up out from between her legs. Zarya sucked clean one finger, and the other was offered up to Lena. She moaned deep when Lena took her larger mitt in both of her delicate hands and suckled at her sticky finger, appreciatively and lovingly. Keeping hold of her hand, Lena began to lead Zarya through the crowd of cheering (for both Lucio and them) club goers. As they got further from the stage, she could speak more clearly.

"Where are we going, Lena?" Zarya asked, her voice bubbling with excited laughter.

"Home," she said simply.

"Why home?" she asked with genuine curiosity. "Don't you want to see the concert finish?" she asked with some broken English.

"Home has all the toys I want to use on you," she paused in her exit to say, looking up at her favorite Russian bear. "It has all the food I want you to eat off my body," she went on to explain. "This place doesn't have enough stuff that we can break and mess up during our passionate fucking." She stepped onto her toes to whisper the last sentence to Zarya, putting emphasis on the last word to entice her further.

"Goodness, Lena!" Zarya happily said with shock. "Between your words and that woman's eyes, I may be coming in my pants."

"Woman?" Lena curiously queried. "What woman?" Her face did not denote anger or jealously. Quite the opposite. She was instead very intrigued. After all, Zarya implied that this woman's eyes were enough to arouse her. She couldn't wait to see the rest of her.

"She was on the balcony, watching us. Whole time," Zarya admitted, thinking fondly of those watchful, lustful, eyes set against light pink skin.

"You want her to join us, don't you?"

"What?" Zarya nervously said. "No, no, you are enough for me."

"Stop it, Zarya," Lena said, making the action of pushing Zarya but obviously not making the tower budge at all. "I know how you get. Go, find her. I'll wait for you outside. I want to meet this woman with eyes hot enough to get my bear all hot and bothered," she requested. She watched Zarya run off, with a proud smile. She looked like a child who had just been told they could have any toy in the store they wanted. Lena was looking forward to meeting this mystery woman, but she was looking forward to seeing Zarya so happy, again, even more.

With a slam of the heavy metal door, Lena was outside on the chilly streets of London. A dismal blanket of smog blocked out any chance at seeing the stars or the big full moon. She wrapped her arms around herself, already feeling the bite of the end of Fall and the beginning of Winter. It wasn't a bitter cold, or an comfortable chill. It was, however, the kind of coolness that would begin to work its way into your skin on a brisk walk home. Lena regretted modifying the winter jacket Zarya had given her. It was black exterior with white fur on the inside, and had been large enough to reach all the way past her cute bottom. Lena didn't like the idea of covering up any more of herself than she had to, and so personally tailored it so it ended midway down her torso. And, of course, studs had to be added.

The clicking sound behind her was unmistakable for high heels walking on the pavement. The steady rhythm and hard clacks told Lena that whoever was approaching from behind walked with far more confidence than Lena could ever muster in high heels. When she turned around to meet the piercing stare of the confident walker, she saw confidence in her face that was more than Lena ever had in any aspect of her life.

The woman in black and red strode forward with the kind of grace and elegance that Lena had only seen in movies about fancy duchesses and princesses. Certainly, the way this woman was dressed, she could pass for someone who held royal court. Silver wings reached out from red jewels on either side of her ankles. Just below her knees was a folding over of red fabric from her otherwise black boots, decorated with silver on either flap and another silver-surrounded red jewel where the fabric split into the flaps. Rising up from the red came more black, with red buttons along the outside and inside of her supple thighs. She walked as if she was on the catwalk, one leg perfectly stepping in front of the other. Lena was only granted a brief glimpse of her noticeable thigh gap.

Her coat tails reached all the way to just past her knees. The coat remained open, baring the shiny red vest underneath. Rising from the V of the vest was a neatly tied black tie, disappearing beneath a white folded collar. Shoulders of her coat were pronounced, and the collar even more so. Sleeves ran into her ornate gloves, the left of which was more decorated and layered with curious tech. Her ponytail made it look as though a fountain of brown hair was springing up from behind the black and silver visor that rested in front of it. Five glowing lenses affixed to the front.

Curves were almost musical in nature, how they flowed perfectly from toe to head. Incredible hips that flared out from her thin waist. Her humble breasts looked all the larger in contrast to her slim midsection, and the proud way she thrust them forward. Her skin tone seemed to be almost pink, but powered to be closer to white. A small black beauty mark rest to the left of her cute nose, and above her red painted and pouty lips. Piercing eyes accentuated by black eyeliner and shadow, resting under thin and knitted brows.

Lena wasn't sure how long she had been staring before she realized the woman had stopped dead in front of her. She looked unoffended by the voyeurism, cocking a proud smirk at the obvious admiration and lust in the young punk's yes. She was lost in a haze, seeing that the woman's lips were moving but unable to hear the exact letters over the honey-sweet way they flowed past her kissable lips. Her accent was obvious, at least. French, thick and sensual. Lena focused less on her face and more on her voice when the woman gave an amused laugh, hidden behind a gloved hand, at the dumbstruck look on Lena's face.

"You flatter me, _amoureux_." The words danced from between her lips and kissed Lena's ears. "Such affectionate eyes from such beauty is _très agréable_."

Her lips closed and reopened, like a fish, trying to form the words she wanted to speak but none of them seemed worthy of being said to such an angelic creature. Though, given her manner of dress, seductive charms, and black and red eyes, Lena honestly suspected she may be less and angel and more a vampire. She watched with wide eyes as her black digits curled past locks of chocolate-colored hair that hung along the side of her pointed face, tucking them behind her ear. Her eyes left hers and looked to examine Lena's clothes, smiling as she did.

"Such _passionnate_ clothing," she complimented, running her finger tips along the fabrics that, at that moment, felt all too constraining on Lena. She knew well the difference between shivers of cold and shivers of anticipation, and by her guess, the punk had long lost her sense of the temperature around them and only focused on the rising heat between them.

"W-Who are you?" was all Lena was able to formulate. It was indeed the most pressing question, but not the only one she wanted to ask. _What is your name? Where did you come from? Can you come home with me? What can I do to please you? Will you take me on as your sex slave? Your pet?_ were all questions that Lena wished she could ask without sounding pathetic and weird.

" _Ma_ _prénom?_ I am Amélie Lacroix, an admirer. Though you may call me Widowmaker. My colleagues do, at least."

It was a strange name to say the least, not one gained from working as a teacher or as a candlestick maker. Lena foolishly asked, "What do you do?" Her curiosity for how someone would gain such a name was too great to ignore the obvious danger in asking someone how they earned a name that typically meant a killer.

"I work for..." she paused in faux thought, wishing to draw out the young girl's curiosity a bit longer before she dropped the axe. "...Well, there is no _officiel_ name for it, but I believe the name we have been given by the populace is: the Red Hand." Amélie eagerly awaited her reaction, always enjoying the face of her prey when they realized the kind of predator she was.

"Red Hand?!" Lena knew well the stories of the Red Hand. Officially, the government denied any existence of a shadowy assassin branch of itself. Unofficially, rebellious citizens knew well who the Red Hand were. They were the secret police, given absolute authority to weed out the trouble makers and squash any further rebellious activity. They were so named because they were the hand of the government that was not afraid to get their hands bloody.

" _Oui_ ," she confirmed. "Does that frighten you, _ma cheri_? Do not worry. I am not quite like the others. I do not aim to hurt you," she reassured, knowing full well it fell on deaf ears as she stroked her left gloved hand against the woman's cheek. That particular glove being the one with the visible miniature harpoon ready to fire at her will.

Lena couldn't believe a word she was saying. The Red Hand were notoriously ruthless. Just because this woman hadn't killed her on the spot, didn't mean she wouldn't, once her fun was over. All Lena could hope to do was make sure that time was put off as long as possible, and hope Zarya got to her soon, ideally with the backup she was sent to get.

"I-I've done nothing wrong," Lena stated, as bravely as she could.

"Tut tut, _ma_ _chéri_ ," she cooed, doing her best to bring the girl down to a more calm state. There would be plenty of time for trembling later, she thought. "Do not lie to me. I saw you with your _petite amie_ , on the dance floor. You two put on quite the show."

She had been caught, that much was certain. In modern England, homosexual and lesbian relationships were strictly forbidden by the Omnic-controlled government. The machines had no concept of love or affection, and saw relationships only as a means to procreate. Thus, those that could not produce offspring were deemed unnecessary and wasteful. Being caught in such a relationship was not a capital crime, but the Red Hand could treat any crime as such, if they wished.

"Then again," Widowmaker touched her finger to her lips, stepping back from the girl whom she had walked back against the wall. "Perhaps I am _erroné_? My memory, it slips up, especially when I am, how you say, _aroused_?" If her words weren't clear, her gaze and licked lips should be quite crystal for the woman she had pinned to the wall. "Entire nights can disappear, in fact, if I reach climax, _oui?_ "

"Are you asking me...to _fuck_ you?" Lena was already shocked to have seen such a beauty. Then she was terrified to learn she was a government-employed assassin. Now both emotions mixed when she was told that if she wanted to avoid being arrested, or worse, she'd have to lay with this magnificent, but horrible, creature.

"Would that be so _épouvantable_?" Widow had a face that looked offended, as if she had just been told she was a ghastly monster. She was, she knew it, but she at least knew she looked good while being so bad. "I saw the way you looked at me when I approached," she reminded, stroking the girl's chin with her gloved hand, forcing her eyes back to hers. "Of course, I will not force you, but if you refuse..." She made her point by pressing the point of her wrist-mounted spear against Lena's throat, needing only to tilt Lena's head down slightly to do so.

Lena wanted to refuse, or at least she thought she did. She knew it would be the dignified and honorable thing to do. She also thought of Zarya, and how she wanted to protect her. If this Widowmaker knew of her, she of course knew of Zarya. Lena felt disgusted. Not because of what she felt she needed to do, but because it wasn't just want she needed to do. It was what she wanted to do. Even during all the terror she felt, she was still very aroused by this woman. Her power, her confidence, and of course her body. Her clothes weren't the kind to show off skin or flaunt her curves, and yet the curves were clearly visible. They couldn't be contained by even the most modest of clothing. Lena had to see more, even if it meant sacrificing her dignity. She gave a short, careful nod, making certain to not impale her throat on the spear. Perhaps Zarya's passing joke in the past was right. Maybe she was a nympho.

" _Magnifique_!" Her face made a complete flip from terrifying to delightful, though in either scenario it was still beautiful. Her hand moved away with lightning speed, yet left no mark on the girl's throat. She was certain she would still not forget, however. Confident in her power over the situation, Widowmaker turned her back to the young woman and pulled off her gloves. Her digits wriggled free in the cool air. The gauntlets out of the way, she peeled back her coat and rotated her shoulders so it would fall from them. Always considerate of her things, she made sure to find a place to hang her coat from, and lay her gauntlets on a relatively clean area of the wide alley. Her visor was pulled from her head and placed gently with the gauntlets, which sat below her hanging coat.

She watched, transfixed by this woman, as she disrobed. She thought of all the wonderful things she wanted those hands to do to her. She thought of all the horrible things those hands had done to other people. Lena was forced to gulp down her increased production of saliva, her mouth salivating at the sight of such power and sexuality. She coughed and nearly choked, mid gulp, when the coat was finally removed and Lena was treated to the sight of the greatest ass she had ever seen. It was huge, there was no other measurement that would do it justice other than _huge_. Yet, on her frame, it looked perfect rather than ridiculous. Perfectly rounded, lifted and full. When she bent over, Lena's heart skipped a beat. She could see how the cheeks would perfectly frame her lips below them. She felt blinded by the light that shone through her impressive thigh gap.

Widowmaker gave another delighted giggle from behind her hand. " _Merci, beaucoup, ma_ _cheri,"_ she thanked Lena for the complimenting stare. "Your assets put quite a spell on me, too, though," she admitted as she approached, again with her confident stride. She unbuttoned her cuffs and rolled her sleeves neatly up her arms, stopping both just above her elbows. "But all good things, in time." Her lips met with no resistance from Lena's. In fact they met with no movement at all. _The sweet thing is stunned. How cute!_ she thought. _I will have to rouse her from her stupor_. Masterful lips parted and closed against Lena's, forcing the punk's lips to move slightly when her tongue snaked out to taste them. One hand gently cradled Lena's cheek, and the other pressed at the small of her back, forcing their hips to meet.

In no time at all, Lena forgot that this woman was a murderous, blackmailing, hand of the oppressive government, and thought of her only as a beacon of sex and pleasure. Her lips began to move to meet Widowmaker's, and then her tongue agreed to join the fray as well. For once, she did not know where to put her hands. Widow seemed to place hers as if they were in a dance, something classy yet with a touch of sensuality. All she could do was try to mimic the woman. However, her hands wanted other things, and went slightly off course. One hand on the back of Widow's head, pulling her in deeper. Another on her hip, guiding her more against herself.

Though she did not have the kind of bodily piercings this woman seemed to have, she always enjoyed seeing those in her lovers. Her tongue wrestled with hers, counting the studs that lined it. The predator she was, she imagined the piercings were little people, struggling against their wrestling tongues, pushing back against the muscles and trying their best to avoid being flung down the throat of either woman. Even during sex, Widowmaker wanted to kill, to suit her own pleasure.  Feeling the girl loosen up more to her liking, she opted now to make the make-out session more hands on. Her palm rotated against the small of Lena's back and aimed the fingers downward. Thin fingers snuck into her tight shorts, even managing to get into the panties in one motion. Cheek cupped by her palm, her fingers then squeezed it firmly.

Lena let out a shuddering moan into Widowmaker's mouth, her tongue retracting only for a moment from the pleasure. Then it returned, massaging the other woman's tongue with more fervor than before. She could hold back no longer, and hand to hold onto this woman's ass. Both hands latched onto the backside and squeezed with admiration. They felt so soft and full in her hands. Firm in all the right ways, with enough give to make them feel like pillows she could sleep forever on.

Sensing her need for more contact, Widowmaker decided it was time to undress further. She would not be the one shedding more layers, just yet, though. Deft hands were able to unbutton and unzip the shorts with barely a sound, and without any notice at all from the punk who wore them. She would definitely feel her bum meet with the cool outside air as Widowmaker gave firm tugs to work the shorts off her plump rear. Widow lowered to her knees (one of the only times Lena would ever get to see her in such a position) to get the shorts all the way down the stockinged legs and then toss the short pants aside haphazardly. She examined the beat red, and moisture-kissed, lips between the pretty thighs. With a delicate swipe of her finger, going from bottom to clit, Widowmaker took back a sample of her juices, to be tasted with a moaning mouth. "Not yet," she said up to the ever watchful punk. "Take off your coat," she instructed, and as soon as she did, she began her ascent. Hands dipped below Lena's shirt and began to push it up.

If she thought her bum felt cold before, she was in for a delightful surprise when her pierced nipples met with the open air. She watched as her shirt was tossed aside as absent mindedly as her shorts. An interesting contrast to how carefully Widow had treated her own things, yet paid little mind to the things of others. _Is that what I am to her?_  she thought. _Something to be tossed aside when I'm not needed, or in the way?_ Such concerning thoughts vanished when she saw that beautiful face descend again, and those plump, enticing, lips capture one of her exposed nipples.

Again, Widowmaker enhanced her pleasure by imagining a cruel scenario involving the piercing. Once again the bit of metal took on the image of a man, hanging from the punk's nipple, and screaming in terror as Widow's tongue licked her lips before they parted, only to close again around the nipple. She batted at the "man" with her tongue, delighting in his imagined struggles. She ended her play by closing her teeth around the nipple, eliciting a yelp from Lena. The left breast received the same treatment as the right had, before both were given firm and attentive massages with her hands.

Lena was ready to return the favor and rip off Widow's clothes and taste her body, but before she could reach for the first button, she was spun around and pressed against the brick wall. Her nipples ached from the rough texture being rubbed against them. Widow kept her pinned there with her own body. Those deft hands reached down to her hips and pulled back, forcing Lena to keep her chest against the wall but thrust her bum back. Legs were pushed apart by the high heels, and finally the roughness stopped when a gentle and delicate finger began to trace shapes on her inner thigh.

Her teeth closed around Lena's earlobe while her fingers began to pump into her heat. It would not take her long at all to make the girl cum. Her fingers were practiced and precise. Her long fingers allowed her to stimulate the outer lips while her thumb stimulated the tight hole further north. Though true she had started this in order to get herself off, she found that there was no greater aphrodisiac than seeing another person in the throes of  pleasure, especially if that person was a woman, and especially if the pleasure was brought on by her hands. The only thing better was a kill, but she was feeling generous tonight.

She would have felt almost ashamed at how quickly she came, if it hadn't felt so good. As she covered the woman's palm her in juices, she swore she was going blind, that all she could see was a brilliant white light, brought on from the pleasure. Then she realized she wasn't going blind, but she might if she kept staring at this external source of light. It grew bigger, and brighter, and Lena had to quickly pull her goggles over her eyes in order to keep her pupils from frying. She wanted to back away, but her legs were still weak from the mind blowing orgasm. She felt a force pulling on her, taking her off her feet and was pulled not against the wall, but into it. Or, at least into whatever the strange swirling vortex was on the wall.

Widowmaker leaped at the first sign of trouble, grabbing her gauntlet and firing the spear into the wall opposite of the vortex. She had to close her eyes, so she wasn't sure what it was exactly, what had caused it, and what its purpose was. What she did know was that it was bright, powerful, and pulled at her body like a tornado. Thankfully the wire of her grappling spear was stronger, and she was able to hang on, even as the young woman's screams increased, and then vanished. When she opened her eyes, the strange light, the sound of electricity, the suction, and the girl, were gone. Widow retracted the spear from the brick and stood up, examining the immediate area for any sign of both the woman and the source of the phenomenon. _Did she cause it?_ she wondered. Her red eyes snapped in the direction of the door as she heard it burst open, and an unwelcomed visitor appeared.

Zarya had heard the commotion from inside the club. She had given up on the hunt for the mysterious woman, having no luck in finding her and no longer able to wait to get back to her sweet Lena Oxton. As she neared the exit, she heard a howling wind, and then a scream. A scream she could recognize. Though she usually only heard it within the context of intense pleasure, this one was obviously of terror. This one belonged to Lena, she knew it. When she came out into the alleyway, all she saw of Lena were her clothes tossed about the alleyway, and the mysterious woman standing there, with what looked like a weapon on her arm.

" _Cука_!" she yelled at the same woman whom she had been looking for in the club, and whom she now assumed was responsible for something terrible happening to Lena. "What did you do to Lena?" she shouted, demanding answers and demanding them now. Her posture turned to one ready for a charge, ready to pummel this woman into the pavement if she didn't get an answer or got one she didn't like.

Thin brows furrowed at the aggressive stance and obvious slur said in the woman's native tongue, judging by her accent. Not interested in a fair fight, she fired her grappling spear toward Zarya. It would zip past her face, narrowly missing the skin to add another scar to the Russian, and pierced the trash bin behind her. With a yank of her arm and a retraction of her wire, the can came flying into Zarya's back, knocking the massive woman onto the ground, face first. Seizing the opportunity, Widow grabbed the cuffs she kept her in her coat and leaped for the woman as she was getting up. Pinning her to the ground just long enough to bind her wrists together behind her, before she could figure out what was going on and throw her off with her muscled arms.

Zarya's senses came back to her as she felt herself being turned over onto her back. Her weight pressed down on her bound wrists, and she winced in discomfort. She couldn't see the woman now, but she could hear her high heels click on the pavement, walking a short distance before she was standing over her. In an instant, she came crashing down, landing her immense rear on Zarya's dumbstruck face.

Widowmaker took a moment to enjoy the pleasure of having someone struggle to breathe against the size of her smothering ass, chewing softly at her fingertip. She would have enjoyed suffocating the woman, but she needed answers, and had to put her pleasure aside, for the time being. "You were with that white-haired girl, _oui_? I saw you two on the dance floor, and I know you saw me. I know you want to know if I did to make her disappear, but I didn't. I did, however, fuck her, if that's what you're worried about." Widow gave out a delighted moan when Zarya heard this and shook her head furiously against the soft yet smothering rear. "What I want to know is her name, and anything you might know about some portal she might have created. _Saisir_?" To see if Zarya heard her, she lifted herself up just enough to let the woman reply. All she did was catch some air and then scream at her in Russian. With a sigh, both in disappointment and pleasure, she knew she'd have to press herself back down onto her face.

Her world had become nothing but rage at this woman, and concern for Lena. She struggled to throw the woman off of her, but found herself without any leverage to do so. For all her strength, and she couldn't best this skinny woman with a big ass. An ass that was currently stifling her ability to breathe. She'd have to calm down, conserve oxygen, buy some time to think. She couldn't think, she could only rage and worry. More air was being lost against the soft yet deadly ass.

"All I need is her name, and I'll let you go," she promised. "Give me a thumbs up when you want to talk. _Sasir_?" She kept herself firmly planted on the woman, and wondered if the pleasure she was feeling might distract her from letting the woman breathe so she could tell her the name of this mysterious girl. She sucked on her fingers, cleaning them of the juices that same girl had coated them with, and moaned around her digits. That, mixed with the arousal from before, and of course the feeling of having someone struggling to live due to the pleasure she sought was just enough to cause her to cum, and hard. She'd need new pants, but that's what her discretionary fund was for. When she finally came down from the high, she saw the brute of a woman slamming her fist on the ground, a thumb raised up.

When air was finally allowed to flow back into her lungs, she yelled out "Lena Oxton!" and immediately regretted it. The terror of suffocating was too much, she hated the feeling of helplessness. Zarya had never felt that before, of being without power, and it frightened her enough to betray her true love. A tear rolled down the scar on her cheek as Widowmaker stood up.

" _Bien_ ," she commented while straightening out her clothes she wore and then going to get the gear she had lying in wait for her. As she dressed, she saw Zarya look so distressed and heartbroken. "Do not distress, _cheri_. You did what you had to, to survive." Widowmaker walked over to the bound woman and dropped a key near her head, the sound causing her to open her teary eyes. "And survive is all we can do in this cruel world of ours." With that bit of advice, she blew the Russian and kiss and used her gauntlet to zip out of the alleyway, leaving the woman to her own devices.

Zarya was determined to find Lena. She would repent for her betrayal and save Lena, killing that witch of a woman if she had to. She was no detective, and the police would be of no help in the matter. The only clue she had to work with was what the woman had said before. Widowmaker had mentioned portals. _Was that what happened to Lena? She disappeared into some portal?_ she wondered. Zarya of course knew nothing about portals or wormholes or anything like that, so she would find someone who knew about them, someone who could help. The only place she knew where to start was with a leader, someone who could tell her what she needed to know, and if not, send her to someone who could. Someone who would certainly help her in her cause of true love.

She needed Lucio.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry to any French speakers who no doubt found some mistakes in my choice of French words in the story. Google Translate can only help so much! I could have made it so Widow didn't throw in the occasional French word, but letting French slip into English is too sexy not to do, right?  
> In this chapter, Zarya's look is based on the Cybergoth skin, and Widowmaker's is based on her Huntress skin.

**Author's Note:**

> Tracer's outfit is based on the default outfit in the game. Lena's (the punk version of Tracer) look is based on the Ultraviolet costume. Each character that will appear has their outfit based on one of the alternate costumes, with an original backstory to match.


End file.
